


The Sun and the Moon

by magnus_glitter_bane



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crying, Cutting, Death, Ghosts?!?!?, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Sad, Suicide, but not really, first fic, idk - Freeform, im just rambling, more like an angel, not in a creepy way, ok... So not an angel, what's wrong with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnus_glitter_bane/pseuds/magnus_glitter_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was tired, he had said. He was going to go to sleep early, he had said. </p>
<p>But they were all lies.</p>
<p>47. Is the number.</p>
<p>And how could he have let it happen? </p>
<p>Because, like the sun and the moon,</p>
<p>They could not be one without the other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crappy summary but please read?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun and the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction on here!!!! Hope you like it!

The gun clinked as it found its way into the boy’s soft hair. The soft, black hair that once was quaffed perfectly, but now hung limply into his brown eyes. 

A deep, rattling breath racked through his body, and the gun in his hand shook. The weapon pressed against his temple, pressured him. 

Do it.

When he actually thought about it, there was really nothing left holding him here. Mum and Dad were happy, his sisters were fine, his friends had the band…

The band. One Direction. World famous, top of the charts, award winning. Known for the four british and one irish lads who were in it, who made millions of girls faint just looking at them. 

“No.” 

The word pops out of his mouth and into the heavy silence of the room before he can stop it. 

“No.” He then repeats it, because it’s true. There weren’t five cheeky boys anymore.

There were three British living lads, one broken one, and one Irish boy that was dead.

Amber eyes closed, and the boy is transported back to that dreadful night.

He was tired, he had said. He was going to go to sleep early, he had said. The lies slipped from the blonde boy’s tongue in slick strings, snaking through the air and sliding into the boys’ ears without another thought. They nodded along, because really all they cared about were the flashing lights on the T.V. screen, or the messages on their phones, because really that was all that mattered. His high-topped-clad feet had climbed the stairs, brought him into the dark room that was supposed to be the guest room.

But really, no one ever stayed there.

His pale hand had reached into the floorboards, bony fingers wrapping around the cold metal razors that were concealed there. Maybe he had cried, or maybe his blue eyes had already frozen over, looking as dead and empty as they were now.

But frozen eyes or not, his smooth, ghostly pale skin had opened easily enough under the blade. The edge probably would have been slippery from all the copper liquid staining it, but then again he had always had strong hands.

47 cuts. 47 cuts was all it took for Niall Horan’s life to bleed out through his paper thin casing. Perhaps he thought he could slice away his sugary coating and come out lighter, freer. Perhaps he thought he would come out with more muscle, more talented, a straighter smile.

But all he came out was dead.

Dead. It was too final, unfairly so. When Zayn’s dog stopped meeting him after school, it was dead. When his mum’s garden turned brown and shriveled, it was dead.

When Niall’s unmoving body had been found the next day by the raven-haired boy himself, he was dead.

He remembered screaming; screaming so loud that the other lads came running up to see what distressed their mate so much. He remembered dropping to the ground, clutching Niall’s colorless arms and shaking them desperately, futilely while his mates looked on in stunned silence.

“Please wake up,” Zayn had shook Niall helplessly. “ Please wake up Nialler, its time for breakie. Harry made French toast and we have some leftover Nando's."

Then Harry had screamed too. It wasn’t the same scream though, full of shock and fear, it was full of loss, horror, and worst of all, acceptance. The youngest boy had seen enough late-night horror films to know how a dead person looked, and Niall was it.

Louis, the only one who had his head on straight, had dashed back downstairs, roaring into his phone about hospitals and ambulances. Never had Zayn heard the loud obnoxious boy sound so agonized, so wrathful. 

Liam’s muscular body had slumped against the doorframe, his book falling from his hands, unlikely to ever be picked up again. His puppy eyes had filled with rage, no, fury, and his slippered foot connected so hard with the wall that Zayn thought it would be good for Louis to ask for another ambulance. 

After that, it was a blur of flashing lights and loud noises, a stretcher rolling by and loaded into an ambulance. Paramedics waved their hands in front of Zayn’s eyes and asking if he was okay, if he could see them.

He was confused; he wasn’t the one who was shredded into little Niall-bits. He wasn’t the one who’s blue eyes were staring sightlessly at the ceiling, which really wasn’t a that great a place to look at. It was kind of gross and peeling, to be honest.

Zayn tugged at Harry’s shirtsleeve, eyebrows pulling together into one furrowed line. 

“Harry,” His voice sounded disconnected and childish, now that he thought about it. Nothing like the tough, emotionless one. “Harry, we should re-paint the ceiling and surprise Niall when he comes back.”

Then Harry had turned to him, emerald eyes drowning with unshed tears. Zayn’s pout increased, was his idea really that bad?

“Oh Zaynie, darling,” Harry had crooned into his ear. He had pulled the older boy into his lap, stroking the black hair with a shaking hand, usually he wouldn't let anyone but Niall touch it. But Niall wasn't here right now. “I’m sure Niall would have loved that.”

Then Zayn smiled happily, glad that Niall would be glad. Because really, all he wanted was Niall to be glad.

Click.

The metallic chink of the gun shaking around brought Zayn back to reality. This time, he couldn’t feel the coldness, maybe because his body was just as icy. 

It had taken two weeks for Zayn to finally understand what was happening. Maybe it had to do with Louis talking about funeral plans, or Liam bursting into tears every time he saw someone wearing green, or how Harry’s voice was so rough from crying constantly that Zayn couldn’t figure out what he was saying until he had brewed him a mug of tea.

“When’s Niall coming back?” He had asked when handing the cup to Harry. The curly-haired boy froze, hadn’t he heard? Niall wasn’t coming back.

Louis stood up, crossing over to Zayn and wrapping his large arms around him. The older boy shook, and Zayn got uncomfortable. Why was everyone crying all the time, Niall hated it when people cried.

“Darling,” Louis whispered. It was the second time he’d been called darling, and Zayn wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Darling, Niall’s not coming back.”

Those were the worst words that had ever hit Zayn’s ears. Worse than the time his mum had yelled at him for painting and drawing all over the walls, or when he got rejected from the X-Factor.

But probably nothing compared to what Niall went through everyday that hurt so much he ran away.

Liam, Harry, and Louis had all gotten over the Irish lad, well not for real, but they were holding it together enough to talk, to maybe even joke around. To Zayn, the only laugh he wanted to hear was the boisterous one that flew so naturally from Niall’s mouth. From his beautiful big smile with his perfectly crooked teeth.

It was simple, even easy when you thought about it. What was one bullet to 47 cuts? Quick, relatively painless, a relief really. Relief from the constant reminder of his dead friend peering at him from the shadows, blue eyes piercing straight into his skull.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Niall seemed to cry. “Why weren’t you there?”

Zayn’s fingers tightened on the trigger. He could do it, would do it, should do it.

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he breathed one last goodbye.

“Wait.”

Zayn’s eyes snapped open at the raspy word, flicking around the deserted room. It was deserted for a reason, it happened to be the same room where Niall had ended his life.

There was nobody there. Probably just his imagination.

Holding his breath, Zayn steeled himself and screwed his mouth up. 

One, two th-

“Wait.” There was the voice again, this time louder and more distinct. The raven-haired boy raised his squinted gaze from the floor, traveling upwards until it rested on a face that was so painfully familiar.

The breath caught in Zayn’s throat.

“...N-Niall?”

The glowing figure in front of him chuckled, a delightfully light sound. “Hey.”

Zayn gaped, the gun falling from his hand and clattering to the floor. He collapsed to his knees, staring up at the ghostly image of his once alive best friend.

“Wh-at?” He choked out, shaking uncontrollably. “How…Niall? Is that…really you?”

The boy smiled softly, bending down to sit beside Zayn. His blonde hair was quaffed up as perfectly as he remembered, and his outfit was right, from the red polo, all the way down to the white high-tops encasing his feet.

“Hey Z.” The Irish accent sent an agonizing tingle down Zayn’s spine. “How are you?”

For a moment, all he could do was stutter, but then Zayn was lunging at the pale boy, who somehow had substance though he was deathly cold.

“I hate you!” He screamed, pounding his fists into Niall’s chest. “I hate you so fucking much! WHY did you leave me Niall? What did I do wrong?”

“How could you leave me and the boys like that?! We were broken, Niall! You-you don’t know how much it HURTS-“

Zayn ran out of breath, sobbing hard into Niall’s polo that smelled so much like him. Tears ran down the boy’s face like rivers, blinding him and all he could feel was Niall, Niall, Niall.

“Hey, hey Z, I never wanted to leave you,” Niall soothed, drawing patterns lightly on his back. “I did it cause I didn’t have any other choice.”

At this, Zayn looked up, his tear-stained face desperate and needy. “Yes you did!” He howled, chest heaving. “You could have stayed here with me, you-you SELFISH DICK!” He collapsed back into wails, soaking the cloth that covered both him and his friend.

Niall just let the boy cry himself out, murmuring sweet apologies into his ear. After a good hour, Zayn finally pushed himself up and sniffled, wiping the wetness of off his face with trembling hands.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, ya know?” Niall cooed while the amber-eyed boy blew his nose onto his shirt. “The hate, making me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

“But you were good enough Niall,” Zayn whispered. His heart jumped when his gaze locked with Niall’s, the latter sighing and muttering, “No I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were,” Zayn’s voice grew stronger, and he said the words he’d always wanted to say while the boy was still alive. “You were good enough for me. I-I LOVED you Niall. I loved you as more than a friend.”

“All this time,” he continued, rushing, “All this time I wished I could be kissing your lips instead of Perrie's, I wish I could be cuddling with you instead of having to stick with friendly pats and hugs. I wish we could have been together, and-and had our own little happily ever after. That's all I ever really wanted, Niall, I promise, I swear-.”

Zayn clapped a hand over his mouth.

Niall was silent for the longest time. Then finally, he spoke, his words sounding thick and choked.

“You…you did?”

Zayn nodded slowly. Here he was, confessing his love to a dead boy, who was probably just a figment of his imagination from him finally losing his sanity. 

“Zayn, I-“ Niall swallowed hard, blue eyes suddenly shining in a way that made Zayn abruptly sure that this was no vision of a crazy person. “I loved you too… I still do.”

The boys looked at each other, grins growing on their light and dark faces. They were like the sun and the moon. Zayn reached out gingerly, caressing the deathly white cheek.

“I’ve always thought,” Zayn murmured, reaching out blindly with one hand, scrabbling across the wood floor in search of something while still running his fingers down Niall’s skin. 

“I’ve always thought love was infinite. That love was forever.”

“Even after death.”

Zayn wrapped his fingers around the previously missing object, and he lifted it up.

The gun.

Niall seemed to realize what he was thinking, and quickly reached out a hand to stop him. His touch was freezing cold, but Zayn didn’t wince, only calmly brought the death dealing weapon up to rest once again against his temple.

“I’m going to prove to you that I love you.”

“You don’t have to do this, Z, I can wait for you, I'll always wait! Please! Zaynie, don't!” Niall begged. He flinched slightly at the use of the nickname, but Zayn stayed resolute.

“Yes I do. The boys will get on without me, I’ll miss them but they’ll know its for the best.” He said without a hint of fear. Ignoring Niall’s protests, he closed his eyes and let his long fingers tense on the trigger.

“I’m coming, Niall.” He breathed. 

Then he squeezed.

...Nothing.

Nothing seemed to happen. His lids fluttered open in surprise, and he saw the same room that he was just in, complete with Niall sitting right beside him.

Yet, the boy didn’t seem to glow as much, he seemed like he had in life, despite the despair in his eyes and the creases in his forehead. Zayn took a forward, then stumbled forward into the arms of his love.

This time though, his skin was soft and warm and not quite as pale.

“Love, sweetheart, darling,” Niall hummed, loving the way the words rolled off of his tongue so beautifully. Zayn’s amber eyes burned into his, and their lips met in a soft, passionate kiss.

Their breath mingled, and their respective scents wrapped around each other like delicious clouds. Opening his mouth, Zayn inhaled Niall’s warm, sweet breath, and knew that this is what he’d been waiting for.

Breaking apart, Niall smiled adoringly into Zayn’s face, joining their hands in a lovely tangle. 

“Let’s go, love.” He nodded, and together they departed, finally at peace.

\-----

Liam, Louis and Harry stared down at the motionless body of their best mate Zayn, tears leaking freely from their eyes. 

“Why, Zayn?” Liam whispered, his brown orbs leaking silently. “Why?”

The other two boys wrapped comforting arms around him, still fixated on the figure splayed in front of them. 

“I don’t know,” Louis murmured thickly. “But wherever he his…I hope he’s happy.”

Together, they lifted Zayn up and carried him out gently, like he was glass. Closing the door soundly behind them, the boys thought nothing of the single, white Supra lying in the center of the room.

But if they had listened closely, they would have heard the hint of a chuckle, an echo of a kiss, and the tinkling of laughter that came from the happiness of two in love

And if they squinted they may have noticed the shimmering of the air and the outline of two entwined hands. The brightness of the sun and of the moon, who can not be one without the other.

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm crying...... From my own writing....
> 
> Drop a review and make my day. Or my midnight, actually. ;)
> 
> Also accepting prompts.


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